


The Time Traveler's Guide

by em_gray



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, it'll make sense dw, it's like fifty percent a modern au but it still takes place in the 1700s, will probably add more tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/pseuds/em_gray
Summary: The day he's to leave for the Continent, Monty wakes up next to a boy he's never seen before. This boy claims he's from the future, though he doesn't know exactly how he ended up here. The real oddity, however, is that this Percy Newton's name shows up in a rather important letter Monty received two years prior.
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	The Time Traveler's Guide

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I'm mostly just posting the first chapter of this as motivation for myself not to abandon the project, so I might alter some minor things later on. but still! starting on my first multi-chaptered fic and I'm very excited about it! hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: changed the title from Out of Time to this. will probably change it again later

On the morning I am to leave for my Grand Tour of the Continent, I wake in bed beside a strange boy. For a disorienting moment, I try very hard to remember what, exactly, I've done last night that led me to find myself in this situation. 

I peer at him through eyes burning with sleep and try to think. I was out last night - that I do recall. So unless this lad snuck into the house during the early hours and then decided to take a nap in my bed, there’s only one logical explanation for all of this, really. Awkward thing being is that I can for the life of me not remember who he is, or how I met him, or if we’ve slept together or not. Which might leave me at a bit of a loss for conversational topics when he wakes.

I frown. _Think, Monty._ _At least try to remember his name._ Since nothing about the situation is giving me any clues about that, I move on to the next question: _what transpired between us?_ I look him up and down, and find myself ending up more confused that I was before.

He’s quite handsome, nothing of that - dark-skinned and freckled and with his long black hair slipping from its knot behind his head. But while he’s fully dressed - unlike myself - it’s in a rather peculiar fashion. He’s wearing a dark blue jumper with a hood attached to it. His trousers are made from some paled blue fabric, and his shoes consist of patches of some sort of white leather combined with blue fabric, tied with white laces. I’ve never seen anything like it. Beside him, grip still in his open hand, lies a fiddle case.

As I’m pondering about this, mind still sluggish with sleep, my gaze falls onto a clock. It’s nine in the morning. My first instinct is  _ good Lord, why am I awake already, I should go back to sleep _ , but then I realize that I leave for the Continent at eleven. Which leaves me with not an awful lot of time to spare to deal with the situation at hand. And God forbid someone walked in here and found us like this - though I must confess it wouldn’t exactly be the first time.

A little more awake by means of mild panic, I decide to cut to the chase. I prop myself up on one elbow, moving in a little closer, and clear my throat. When that has no result, I take a deep breath and say loudly: “Good morning, darling.”

His eyes fly open, land on me and he gasps, sitting up quickly. He moves back on the bed, though unfortunately he was already pretty close to the edge, and he falls off with a caw like a raven’s. I watch him as he stumbles back onto his feet, then looks around, breathing growing more agitated.

“Wh-where am I?” he asks, still surveying the room as if he’s never seen it before. He looks properly panicked. “What happened?”

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed to find out I’m clearly not the only one who was well out of it last night. But at least I woke up in my home. The same can’t be said for him, so I say: “The  _ where _ would be in my room. As for what happened last night… things are a bit woolly for me as well, I must admit.” And I flash him a dimpled smile.

His attention is fully on me now. “I-I’m sorry, do I- know you? How did I-” he’s looking around again, “Why on  _ Earth _ does this place look like a renaissance fair?”

I frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Wait you- you  _ live _ here? No way. That’s- Wait. Where is  _ here _ , more specifically?”

“...Cheshire, England? The Montague family estate?”

He gapes at me for a while. Then, a corner of his mouth tugs up. He slaps his forehead and starts laughing. “Oh, I get it now. This is some sort of prank.” He looks around, seemingly forgetting I’m there. “All right, very funny. Where’s the camera?”

I blink at him, a little unsure of what to do. I’m starting to get a little worried he might be insane. Well. In that case I should just get to what I was originally planning: getting him to leave. “Yes, well,” I say, a little unsure. “Why don’t you return home and take it easy for a little. You’re clearly confused. There’s a perfectly climbable tree next to my window.” I gesture.

He’s stopped laughing, and started looking a bit worried. “I’m sorry, who are you, actually?”

I’m about to feel insulted, when I realize I don’t remember his name, either. “Henry Montague,” I say. Then I tip my chin at him. “You?”

“Percy Newton.”

Those two words strike me like lightning. My mouth falls open. “...I’m sorry?”

“Percy Newton,” he repeats absent-mindedly, then he starts examining my room, poking at the furniture. I just stare at him. Out of reflex, my hand goes to the letter I always keep in my pocket. I conclude that my breeches are, in fact, not upon my person, and panic goes through me.  _ I can’t have lost it. _ I curse myself of the night previous, looking around, but they’re nowhere to be found. The boy seems distracted enough, so I hurry over to my wardrobe and look for some clothes I can go search the house in.

By the time I’m examining various pieces of my clothing that I at one point discarded somewhere in my room, Percy is standing near the window and pulls open the drapes. We both flinch at the sunlight pouring in.  _ Well, at least I can see better now. _ I continue my search, half an eye on him, a little worried he might actually bolt. But he’s just staring at the courtyard. I hear horses whinnying, and am once again reminded that I do not have much time left before my departure.

Though that suddenly seems trivial compared to my letter being lost and the sudden appearance of  _ the _ Percy Newton.

“What year is this supposed to be?” the aforementioned Percy asks, tone unreadable.

I’ve, meanwhile, turned every article of clothing in the room inside out, to no avail. I stand up. “What do you mean?”

“Just tell me.”

I shrug. “1728. No, wait. 1729. No- Hm. Definitely one of those two.”

He gapes at me, and I’m about to defend that it’s perfectly natural not to be sure what year it is at an ungodly hour like this one, when he says, breathlessly: “No. This isn’t happening.”

“What isn’t?”

He raises a hand, a little feeble on his feet, supporting himself on the window frame. “I’m dreaming,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

I’m torn between leaving my room to go look for my letter and finding out more about him. Given that a letter is an inanimate object and thus less likely to get more distance on me if turned my back, I stay where I am. “What year should it be, according to you?”

He stares at me for a long moment. All the humor this situation had seemed to hold to him a moment ago has gone. “2020,” he says slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned!


End file.
